


Taste Of Love

by Hiver_Noir



Category: The Hitcher (1986)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Menstrual Sex, Menstruation Kink, Stockholm Syndrome, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:47:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24161566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiver_Noir/pseuds/Hiver_Noir
Summary: A real man loves his woman every day of the month.
Relationships: Jim Halsey/John Ryder
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	Taste Of Love

**Author's Note:**

> UNBETAED. Read at your own risk.

Of all possessions i did treasure  
This one's strictly for her pleasure.  
  


Jaime spins awkwardly in front of a dirty shop window, trying to get a better look at her reflection in a dull glass. Everything seems to be all right, but she can't be too sure under this kind of lightning – despite the blazing late afternoon sun, the shop is dark like a cluttered closet, bursting with boxes of supplies and various trinkets, all covered by a thick layer of yellow-gray dust. Even the walls appear to be painted with brush strokes of black grease, congealed in the corners like a swarm of big, oily flies. 

Jaime shyly approaches Ryder and stands next to him, her head bend down, and he slowly turns to cast a questioning glance over her slender frame.

\- I need to use the restroom, - Jaime says quietly. She's terribly embarrassed, but she knows it would be much worse if he noticed something. She's also afraid he'll refuse her request, though, considering that she has already asked for a permission to leave during their last stop.

Finally, Ryder gets bored of drilling her face with his stare and he briefly nods.

\- Hurry up.

These words untie a tight knot wedged inside her chest. She turns around - her legs unbending and arms tense at her sides - and rushes to the restroom, following the sign on the wall. Once she gets into a little room with two stalls, one of which she suspects to be broken, Jaime looks around until she finds what she needs. Trying not to touch anything unnecessarily, she takes a roll of toilet paper. The first long piece goes into the garbage bin; the second one she uses to wipe herself dry; and the third she folds meticulously before hiding it in her underwear, doing her best not to get any on her fingers in the process. After barely putting the makeshift pad into place, she can already feel it getting wet.

It always comes at a wrong time. Like the time she was 15, and her period started a few days earlier than it should have, ruining a fieldtrip she had went to with her friends. Jaime spent the entire weekend sitting on a pad, as thick as a small mattress, while the others swam in the lake and had fun. Or when she was 16 and she had to take physics test on the very first day – the subject had never been easy for her, and she barely had the strength to sit upright during the whole thing.

As if in response to these thoughts, Jaime feels another spasm at the bottom of her belly, and scoffs, knowing perfectly well this is just the beginning. This time her period came almost a week later - Jaime just woke up in the morning and felt something was out of place – other than being a captive to a serial killer, obviously – and soon enough, a familiar tugging sensation inside her guts proved her right. She didn't take any pads with her on this trip, counting on getting back home before she would need to use them, but then something bad has happened.

A very, very bad thing.

John Ryder. The worst accident anyone could have ever encountered on the highway.

Jaime washes her hands hurriedly and rushes back, slipping past a bored salesman. She always wonders what other people think when they see them together, her and Ryder. An adult man and an eighteen-year-old girl. Why do all eyes slide past them like they see nothing? Does it not occur to anyone something is wrong? He's too young to be her father; and she's too scared to be his anything at all. 

He waits for her by the car near the gas pumps, smoking a cigarette and observing something along the road, probably the point where it meets the horizon and melts away. It's forbidden to smoke at a gas station, but it’s also not like someone could make a remark to him – the area is empty, and besides, it would only take one glance towards this formidable figure, hanging over the asphalt like a black obelisk, to discourage anyone from doing so.

When she gets closer, Ryder‘s gaze sweeps around the empty space to fix upon her - a scope, she thinks vaguely, deadly and precise. His eyes are so blue, as if there are two holes in the middle of his head and the sky is piercing them through. She always gets uncomfortable when he looks at her like this - both thoughtfully and somehow empty, making Jaime fell like her skin is made of glass and he can see what’s hidden underneath. 

Without saying a word, Ryder throws a cigarette on the ground and extinguishes it with his foot. Before he gets in the car, he holds something out to her – it’s a pack of mint candy, and she takes one gingerly.

\- Thank you.

\- You're welcome, - Ryder sends one into his mouth as well, watching with an unblinking stare as Jaime carefully unfolds the wrapper and puts the candy on her tongue. Mint flavor envelops her palate, bringing a refreshing sweetness and providing a distraction from a nasty taste in the back of her throat that has been pestering her since morning.

Ryder falls into the passenger seat and Jaime weaves around the car to take the drivers side.

Once she’s in, Jaime is also the first one to put on the seatbelt. She's particularly uncomfortable being around Ryder today, haunted by an irrational suspicion he is able to sense her weakness, like a predatory beast follows the stench of blood it’s so closely familiar with. She dreads it would take only a little longer for him to throw himself at her and rip her apart. 

Obviously, Jaime keeps these thoughts to herself. She is silent, waiting for further instructions. Sometimes he gives her direction, sometimes he doesn't. And then she just starts the car, speeding forward, no matter where, just far away.

\- Drive west. - Ryder speaks slowly, leaning back into the seat. From the edge of her eye, Jaime watches his tender eyelids slide up and down along the shiny corneas. It reminds her of a reptile, basking in the sun.

\- Okay. - Jaime starts the engine. Maybe it's her nervousness or the stuffiness inside the sun-heated car, but her stomach is starting to hurt even more. It's like her insides are twisted over this steering wheel and are slowly pulled out of her body with it’s every turn.

She leaves the gas station, drawing a wide arc on the empty road as they drive in silence – the radio doesn't work, and Ryder doesn't see the need to talk to her, he's pretty quiet today, and Jaime can’t help but ponder whether it's good or bad thing. Maybe he's fed up with her, she thinks, anxiously gnawing on a candy inside her mouth. At first she was scared he would do something terrible, one of those things men like him do to girls on the highway, but nothing of the sort has happened - the killer hasn't touched her in any way, but she is also aware the tables could turn any moment.

The tiny gas station is soon left behind. They haven’t even driven a full mile away, when Ryder opens his mouth to speak to her, his tone as indifferent as ever.

\- Did you know they sell these things at gas stations?

With those words, he takes something out of his coat - bright and blue like his eyes. Jaime leans her head sideways with caution to take a glance at it. What she sees makes her eyes open wide.

In Ryder's big hand, there's a package of sanitary pads.

\- I didn't. - He adds calmly. – Now pull over.

Her hands are shaking when she turns around and stops the car. Jaime is still in her seat, her eyes firmly fixed on the sunburned thickets in the side window. Without daring to turn her head, she is nonetheless able to sense his gaze – but now it’s different, not like the empty one he was giving her at the gas station – Ryder examines her with a clingy, heavy stare. Jaime’s body turns to stone, when she feels the first touch. His hand rests on her tense stomach for a few moments, then slides downwards, crawling to her crotch; the massive fingers ghost over her private parts with a gentle but steadfast certainty.

\- You weren't going to soil the seat, were you? I supposed you don't want me to get us a new car.

\- N-no, - Jaime mutters. Her heart beats somewhere at the base of her throat, threatening to jump right into her mouth and choke her.

\- Aren't you going to use what I bought for you?

\- Right here? – The words compel her to finally turn around and stare at him in terror.

Without answering this question, Ryder pulls out the ignition keys, and the car dies underneath them – just like Jaime is dying inside at this moment. Ryder goes out, slamming the door shut, while Jaime just sits there, counting his steps and the frantic beats of her heart. She hopes this last dozen of seconds before whatever inevitable thing he has prepared for her – probably one of the horrors she doesn’t even dare to imagine - would never end, but it certainly does. All it takes is a sharp click of a door latch, and Ryder appears right in front of her.  
\- Turn over to me.

His voice always sounds so deceptively delicate; like satin in a coffin, Jaime thinks, so utterly soft, but once you get to feel this softness, it's over. Hesitantly, she obeys and turns to face him, pressing her knees tightly against each other. For a few moments, Ryder looks at her feet and then lifts his gaze to study her face. That stare is impermeable, but the blue of his eyes now holds a little different shade than before – if only Jaime dared to delve in a little deeper, she would catch some new, peculiar interest lurking within; a special kind of need. Without taking his eyes off her, Ryder kneels on the ground and stretches his hand forward to put it on her ankle - there's nothing forceful about the gesture, but the way he wraps his fingers around her flesh says a lot by itself. With his second hand he pulls her shoe off; it falls into the dust with a light knock, the sound so distinct in the surrounding silence it makes Jaime shiver with surprise.

The man's hand slides up her leg until he reaches her thigh; steady fingers start unbuttoning her jeans. A terrible, pitch-black guess pops up in Jaime's head - it feels like a monstrous octopus came up from the depths of the ocean to drag her down below. She lowers her head, trying to get away from what is happening to her, not to think about anything other than her own stuttering breath. Her heart pounds inside her chest - that's how a rabbit must feel, caught in a snare as it watches a hunter approach it with a gun on his shoulder. A faint buzz of a zipper breaks the silence, and Jaime frantically tries to squeeze her legs harder, but Ryder's hands are already on her belt, and in a few moments the jeans are yanked down to her knees, leaving Jaime with nothing but underwear to cover her modesty. What she wears is a simple pair of white panties Mom bought her at a chain store for a few dollars a dozen, and Jaime never has thought anyone but herself would ever see her wearing it. Meanwhile, Ryder grips Jaime' ankle again to lift her foot on his shoulder. Though she doesn't resist, she is still unable to smother a sob escaping past her shivering lips; a mournful expression crawls up her face, tying her brows together.

Ryder runs his fingers over the white fabric, stretched tightly between her legs, gently stroking what's lays underneath it; he carefully picks on the edge of her improvised pad, sticking out from the side, and pulls it out.

\- It's all wet already. What were you even trying to achieve with that? – Now there's more genuine interest in his voice than mockery, but it only makes Jaime feel worse. He looks at her like he’s expecting an answer, but she doesn't know what to say; she doesn't know what she was thinking, how she could even hope to hide something from him, of all people. But in the next moment, all these thoughts crumble within her head like a card house, because he's tugging on her underwear, sliding it down. Jaime is so stunned she refuses to move – she doesn’t even attempt to stop him or do anything else - her whole face is on fire and the tongue inside her mouth has turned into a dry piece of paper. She notices two big red spots on her panties and bends in half, trying to cover herself, but his hands are already above her knees, dragging them in different directions alternately, like a pair of pliers pulling on a sick tooth, as he forces her to open up. 

\- Don’t, - Jaime's moans weekly in protest. A new spasm is curling up her insides, the tension wringing out a new portion of blood from her body.

\- Calm down, kid. I don’t faint at the sight of blood. - Ryder's smirks taunts her.

Jaime freezes in her seat like she's been paralyzed. Somewhere behind her back she can hear the sound of a car passing by.

Ryder pulls a white handkerchief out of his pocket and slowly wipes the insides of her thighs – he doesn’t touch her half-open, bloody labia yet. The man looks at the soiled fabric thoughtfully, and Jaime can't even imagine the things that may by going through his head at the sight of it. Fixing her knee with an elbow, he puts his second hand on her stomach; the rough palm feels incredibly warm, and Jaime suppresses the need to press into it further - the touch alleviates the ache, as if the man’s hand was a warmer filled with hot water.

He raises his eyes and looks her in the face.

\- I don't have any Tylenol for you. But there's another way to deal with the pain. - Ryder turns his gaze back on the handkerchief and grins from an ear to ear. - Looks delicious.

\- What... - Jaime doesn't have time to say anything for he's already coming down on her.

The first touch of his lips is like electric shock – her whole body flinches from the impact. Jaime can't stand it anymore; she clings to his shoulders while trying to close her legs. She is ashamed, terribly so – her embarrassment is even stronger than the fears of death and the punishment for this act of disobedience. But his palms have already fallen upon her thighs, broad and heavy, spreading them apart. The back of his head rubs against her belly, and the puffy blond hair tickle the skin, making Jaime whimper - an avalanche of sensations swoops over her, suppressing her will to resist. Ryder begins with light, fluttering touches, delicately circling the bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue - the remains of a peppermint candy, dissolving inside his mouth, evoke a fleeting feeling of coolness, which is immediately swept away by the heat of his breath coming up from the depths of his body. Jaime squeezes her eyelids shut until there are white circles before her sight; Ryder's caress is gradually becoming persistent as he descends lower, until the gentle touches of his tongue turn into wide and blatantly greedy strokes. Managing to gather some courage, Jaime opens her eyes to look at him - golden strands of hair on the back of his head remind her of the curls, adorning a face of an ancient statue. Ryder is stretched out in front of her - this frightening man is standing on his knees in the dust between Jaime’s feet, and somehow it arouses a very strange feeling within her, a special kind of delight that she never called for, dark and sweet, like molasses. Not being able to give it a name, Jaime, nevertheless, clearly feels how it intensifies the unraveling, almost painful tension inside her swollen clit, accompanied by the warm spasms at the bottom of her aching stomach.

The relentless assaults of Ryder’s hot, wet mouth are pulling her closer to climax little by little - her pleasure evident in rhythmic contractions of her thighs and abdomen, especially at the times when his tongue comes dangerously close to penetrating her, sliding in between the wet folds and licking upon them in a greedy manner, just like a man, lost in the desert, would lick the rocks, peppered by the crushed diamonds of morning dew.

Jaime's mouth drops open after one of those strokes; she elicits a moan – voluptuously and low, and she recognizes nothing of herself in this sound. Jaime thinks she can feel him smiling - down there, pressing his lips to her flustered sex...

But before she can make any sense of it, Ryder pulls her clit into his mouth, giving a gentle suction and rolling it over with his tongue. Jaime whimpers pathetically, every breath that erupts out of her chest comes in a perfect rhythm with the movement of Ryder’s lips – she feels as he has somehow found a way to control her body, subjugating it to his will.

Ryder's hand leave her thigh; he reaches out to catch her wrists, placing her palms on his temples - and Jaime’s fingers readily plough into the softness beneath, immediately clutching on the pale strands – the grip is hard, perhaps even painful, but none of them pay attention. There’s no moaning anymore as she is out of breath, everything that can slip from her mouth at the moment is reduced to the high-pitched, frequent sobs. A few moments before the flash of mind-numbing bliss absorbs her completely, she manages to identify that feeling she got a bit earlier – it was the same as the one on those stuffy summer nights, when her whole being was seized by a strange languor, now thickened into the shape of this murderous man at her feet and between her legs. 

Apparently, Ryder feels it too when she comes. He laps on her for a few more moments, avoiding the sensitive bud this time. As he gets away from Jaime, he lifts his head up to give her a short kiss on the mouth. Although her lips are half open, he doesn’t try to get past them. This is her first kiss, and it tastes like blood, metallic and bitter.

Still dazed after an overwhelming high of her climax, she hears a quiet snap of the belt being unbuckled, which brings Jaime to her senses. 

She tries to say something.

\- I... I have never...

\- I know. Just sit still. You're a good girl, right?

Jaime doesn’t say anything, not knowing how to answer a question like that. Ryder's lips are a bright shade of red, and she sees pale swabs of blood on his chin.

\- Answer me.

She barely nods, not knowing what she agrees to, but the man is quite satisfied with this answer.

He unbuttons his trousers and pulls himself out, his cock’s so tense and red it looks like it’s about to bleed. Ryder gently runs his fingers along her slit, thoroughly soaking them with blood, saliva and her secretions. After getting them wet enough, he moves his hand to his shaft, starting to pleasure himself. All the while, Jaime stares at his actions, spellbound; silently she watches as the bright bloody streaks smear and fade under the broad strokes of his palm.

\- Look into my eyes. – Ryder’s words take Jaime out of her bewilderment again, and she submits, astonished by just how tranquil his stare seems at the moment. She feels like something unfamiliar is moving under the deadly calm of these icy orbs – like the shutters within his pupils were opened wide and now she can see the naked darkness that swirls behind them. It’s thick as blood, and just as vicious.

She doesn't know how long it lasts before Ryder comes, pouring out in the dust under the wheels of their car. He takes a handkerchief and wipes himself clean, only to bring the cloth closer to his face to study the stains as he did before.

Jaime can’t help but lowers her eyes as well - she sees pearly drops among obscene smears of crimson. Her own color seems triumphant, suppressing everything else.

Meanwhile, Ryder picks up an object that fell out of the car in the middle of all that just happened. It's a package of pads he has bought for her earlier; the man puts it on Jaime's lap and smiles a little as he meets her gaze.

\- Get yourself cleaned up, kid. - His smile gets wider, revealing teeth; the ivory white is a chilling, yet captivating contrast with his bloodstained lips. – We have a long way to go.


End file.
